


As Oil is to Water (Pete and Medicine Don't Mix)

by whatacatchphillip



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Cute, Domestic, Fluff, I'm domestic peterick trash fight me, M/M, and he says some weird stuff, now he has to take medicine, pete breaks his foot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatacatchphillip/pseuds/whatacatchphillip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What are you grinning about?" asked Pete on their way out of the hospital, Patrick holding the door open so he could maneuver his way through it with crutches.</p><p>"I can't believe you asked me why you were comparing your self-esteem to taco seasoning!" said Patrick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Oil is to Water (Pete and Medicine Don't Mix)

**Author's Note:**

> whoop many thanks to my fav friend stabmewithaspork for betaing this and adding some much needed edits :)

When a rockstar fucks up their foot, you expect them to have leapt off an amp the wrong way, fallen crowd surfing, or something equally as impressive, but this was absolutely not the case for Pete.

Of course, Pete Wentz, modern rock legend, had completely jacked up his foot by falling down a flight of stairs. Patrick could tell he was more disappointed about the way he fell than the actual injury.

Now that it was all said and done, Patrick thought it was kind of funny. It was the fitting way for Pete to screw himself over, after all the years of jumping off amps and throwing himself into crowds.

Andy, Pete, and Patrick were coming back from lunch a few days ago when it happened. On the short walk from the mall's food court to the parking lot, there was one, very non-menacing, flight of stairs.

On their way down the benign stairwell, Patrick saw a flash of black out of the corner of his eye and heard Pete's phone clatter to the ground. He looked up with a gasp, just in time to catch the dazed look on Pete's face as he sat, now, at the bottom of the stairs.

"Holy shit, dude! Are you okay?" Andy asked, who recovered from the fright way quicker than Patrick, who was still gaping from the top of the stairs.

"Yeah, I think I'm fine," Pete replied, slightly dazed, a pained smile forced onto his face.

"You don't look fine," Patrick said, coming down the stairs to kneel by Pete's side. He touched Pete’s face lightly, and tried to reach for his leg, but Pete pulled away, and immediately grimaced in pain.

"I'm sure it's just a little muscle-tear," said Pete, trying to lift himself off the ground before falling back on the floor in defeat. Just from the look on Pete's face, Patrick could tell he was in tons of pain. Patrick chewed his lip nervously at that.

Eventually, Patrick and Andy lugged Pete back to the car. When Pete's face started going ghostly white and he looked like he might pass out, Patrick turned the car towards the hospital.

\---

Pete left their unpremeditated visit to the ER with a new purple cast, a pair of plastic crutches, and high-strength painkiller. The whole thing was kind of a disaster.

Patrick wasn't really one for medical terminology, but what he was able to pick up from the doctor who had seen Pete was that Pete broke a part of his foot. She said it was going to be painful healing process over the course of few weeks, so she gave Pete some medicine to curb. 

Right before they left, the doctor warned them that the medicine made a lot of the recipients feel loopy, but Patrick brushed the warning off, thanking her for her help.

\---

That night was the first night that Pete was on his medicine, and Patrick couldn't be more conflicted with the result of the drugs. The doctor was absolutely right when she said they would make Pete delirious, and so far, it was turning out to be one of the funniest things Patrick had ever seen.

Frankly, it was funnier than the time that Pete had accidentally gotten high off of smelling a sharpie for too long. He stumbled around their bus for an hour, bumping into every piece of furniture in there. He had also, somehow, convinced (a probably stoned) Joe to let Pete braid his hair. Patrick and Andy had nearly passed out from laughing at the sight they walked into. Joe, with his hair in braids, was dancing to “I’ll Make a Man Outta You” with Pete. But, that whole experience was beside the point.

In the thirty minutes since Pete had taken the medicine, he'd asked for frozen yogurt twice, and when Patrick heard Pete call his name from the bedroom, he knew what was in store.

"'Tricky?" Pete asked sweetly, his voice slurred.

“Yes, Pete?” Patrick replied, leaning against the doorframe, surveying his boyfriend. He knew what was coming.

"Can we get frozen yogurt?"

  
"Later, Pete. It's 11 at night." Patrick hated to say no to him, especially in his current state, but there was legitimately no place he could get frozen yogurt at this hour.

"But Patty!" Pete whined.

"Not my fault, baby. Blame the frozen yogurt shops."

Pete jutted out his lip, and Patrick sighed. He padded over to their bed, and sat next to Pete, rubbing his head and back until he fell asleep.

In the morning, when Patrick told Pete about his impromptu frozen yogurt requests, Pete didn’t even remember asking.

\---

The next evening, Patrick decided to throw together his best attempt at a stir-fry for his impaired boyfriend, who was sitting at their kitchen island watching him move around the kitchen with drug-induced interest.

The TV played music softly in the background, as Pete and Patrick chatted about mundane things. Pete had taken his medicine just a few minutes ago, but it had yet to kick in.

Or, that was what Patrick thought, until-

"What would happen if noodles gave birth to other noodles?" Pete suggested, looking inquisitively at Patrick, who sighed, and moved peppers he was making around on the pan. He didn't say anything, but Pete persisted.

"Like, would noodle pregnancy last nine months?" Patrick wasn’t sure how to respond. To make the matter worse, delirious-Pete was not a good listener, so before Pete could continue his speculation of noodle-birth, Patrick decided to step in.

"Go lay down, Pete,” Patrick suggested gently. Pete was eager to take up the request, and forgot about his question the second Patrick lead him into the living room and gave him a chaste kiss.

\---

"'Tricky, you're so pretty. Like a cloud. You're my cute fuckin' cloud, baby," Pete said, gazing lovingly at Patrick, from his position on the couch. Patrick looked up from his phone and smirked at his delirious boyfriend.

"Why do I remind you of a cloud?" Patrick asked, knowing full well what Pete would say. Sans drugs, Pete would never compare Patrick to a cloud, but he'd done it quite a few times when he was drunk.

"You're so pale and fluffy! Like the good fluffy. Like the 'I want to cuddle you forever' fluffy. You're so soft, Patty. So pretty and pale and fluffy," Pete cooed. Patrick laughed from behind his hand and watched his completely unaware boyfriend ramble on. After a while, Pete paused and made a face.

"What's wrong, babe?" Patrick asked, setting his phone down, and walking over to the couch. He sat down at the edge of Pete's blanket, and rubbed his leg soothingly. Pete gave him a crooked smile, and Patrick relaxed.

"I just realized that no one else has ever cuddled with a cloud! I get to cuddle with a cloud everyday! Cuddle with me?" Pete asked, lifting up the blanket that was half draped over him, before changing his mind and hastily dumping it onto the floor by his feet. Pete sat up as best he could, and giggled when he had to brace himself against the back of the couch. Patrick shook his head and grinned.

"Sure," said Patrick, a soft smile on his face, as he moved to sit behind Pete. When Pete laid back down, he was mostly on top of Patrick, his head wedged into Patrick’s neck.

"A cloud, baby," Pete mumbled, his lips moving against Patrick's neck. Patrick just chuckled, and brushed Pete's hair to the side so he could press a kiss to his forehead.

Soon enough, they were both asleep, cuddled together on the couch.

\---

A few days later, when Patrick was bringing some groceries in from the car, he noticed Pete laying face-up, on the couch, purple-encased leg propped up on a pillow. Leaving the grocery bags on the kitchen floor, Patrick walked over and gave him a quick kiss, hoping to break the spell of deep thought Pete was obviously in.

It seemed to work, because even though it was just a peck, Pete's lips followed Patrick's when they pulled apart. Pete opened his eyes, and gave Patrick a sleepy grin.

Patrick couldn't help but kiss him again. He looked so cute and comfy with his hair mussed, eyes dreamy, skin warm. This time, when he pulled away, Pete looked troubled.

"Why am I comparing my self-esteem to taco seasoning?" Pete asked, his hand tracing Patrick’s jaw line dreamily.

"I don't know, Pete. Anything I can do to help get it out of your head?" Patrick asked, kissing Pete again softly.

"You could come lay down with me."

"Of course, babe."

\---

"Why can't I fuck you anymore?" Pete asked, on the last night he was on the meds, when they were both in bed. Pete was staring at the ceiling like it was a suspect in a murder case.

"You know it's because of your foot. We'll be able to fuck again next week," replied Patrick as he placed his glasses on the bedside table and turned to Pete, who tore his eyes away from the ceiling.

"But I want to now, Tricky! You look so pretty," said Pete, threading a hand through his boyfriend's light brown hair. The tug of Pete's fingers kind of turned Patrick on, but he couldn’t let Pete know that. Pete was completely oblivious to Patrick's reaction, though, and he stole a quick kiss. Patrick wasn't even mildly annoyed as Pete pulled him closer. Their bodies were pressed together, legs tangled under the jumble of covers.

"You're a mess," Patrick said through a face-full of Pete's hair.

"You're right," Pete said instantly, and Patrick scrambled to backtrack.

"I was kidding, Pete! I love you," he said, mentally bracing himself for the possibility of a weepy, drugged Pete. Pete didn't leave him worrying for long, and tonight, Patrick was thankful for a talkative boyfriend.

"I know, silly. I love you, too," Pete said, giggling, and connected their lips again. "Still wish I could fuck you."

"Soon, baby," Patrick said, pulling Pete a little closer to him.

\---

When the doctor told Pete he didn't need to take the medicine anymore, Patrick was equally disappointed and relieved. On the plus side, he wouldn't have to deal with a whiny Pete. To be fair, though, his boyfriend has said some pretty hilarious stuff the past week.

"What are you grinning about?" Pete asked, on their way out of the hospital; Patrick was holding the exit door open so he could maneuver his way through it with crutches.

"I can't believe you asked me why you were comparing your self-esteem to taco seasoning!" Patrick said, laughing.

"That fuckin' medicine..." Pete scowled jokingly. He jumped a bit when Patrick's head suddenly shot up, and Pete gave his boyfriend a confused look.

"Damnit! I should have thought to videotape it!"

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank ya friends


End file.
